


seasonal affective (but you affect me more)

by cactsu



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Drunk Dialing, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Meet-Cute, Strangers to Friends, and other cliches, kind of, shane reads a phone book in funny voices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactsu/pseuds/cactsu
Summary: Shane finds and calls a stranger's number during a drunken night of looking through a phone book. Definitely an odd decision to make on his part, but it’s probably the best decision he’s ever made.Maybe this Christmas won’t suck so much after all.





	1. chapter one.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostwheeze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwheeze/gifts).



> another fic for the beautiful and talented [ghostwheeze](https://ghostwheeze.tumblr.com/)! you asked, i delivered. well, really you joked that i could write a fic merely about shane sitting and reading through a phone book and it'd still be entertaining (not true) and... this idea sparked. thank you for being so kind, funny, and amazing; you've really encouraged me to continue writing as much as i can. i hope this suffices as a nice early birthday present, and i hope it brings you some holiday cheer during your big move! ♡  
> (six chapters for now- may increase or decrease the more organized i get!)

Shane likes drinking. It’s fun. It tastes good. It helps him feel more—um—relaxed? Is that the right word? Yeah, that’s the right word, he supposes. He can’t think very straight right now; he’s drunk.

This year’s holiday season will be a rather lonely one for him, it seems. He’d normally be flying back home in Illinois for the holidays, but nature seemed to be against him this time, as all of the flights arriving in and departing from Chicago had been cancelled due to a rather intense storm. He has friends, sure, but most of them were going home themselves, or spending time with their significant others, or something. And, because the universe just _loves_ him to bits, he has no significant other to spend the cool nights snuggled up and drinking hot cocoa with.

In other words, this Christmas fucking _blows_.

He glances down at the bottle of whiskey in one hand, and the shot glass in the other. At least Jack Daniels is on his side. Beautiful, trustworthy Jack Daniels. What a guy. With a shrug, he pours himself another shot and downs it in record speed. It burns, but it’s a _good_ kind of burn. When he removes the glass from his lips, he sees that he’s already drunken nearly half the bottle over the past few days. Has he been seeking solace in alcohol lately? Maybe, but that’s okay. These were trying times.

“See? Feelin’ better already.” He says aloud, to no one. He doesn’t really mind it. The buzz distracts from the loneliness.

He looks around at the stillness of his apartment and hiccups softly. He’s… incredibly bored. What is there to do at 4-something in the morning? _Alone_ , no less?

“Sleeping is an option,” he grumbles to himself, “but ‘m not tired.” He leans back into his sofa and sulks as he stares at the books stacked on the bottom of his coffee table. He doesn’t have his glasses on—he’d taken those off long before he’d even started his pity party for the night—so he squints to read the titles on the spines. One of them reads _Los Angeles White Pages_.

He quirks up an eyebrow. How long has _that_ been there? He guesses it probably came with the apartment when he moved in ages ago, and he just… never found any reason to use it. Something about it is tempting, though. Maybe it’s his inebriation, or just the fact that he’s all around kind of an oddball, but a voice in the back of his head tells him that reading it would be a hoot.

But why would it be? It’s a _phone book_. There’s nothing but names, numbers, and addresses in there. It’s no more interesting than reading a fucking dictionary. And it’s not like he’s trying to find some long-lost relative or get back in contact with a somewhat regrettable ex, so— _no_ , subconscious voice, he will _not_ be reading the phone book, thank you very much.

…But maybe he could. Because he’s already read every other book on his shelves and he’s incredibly shitfaced right now and just _why not_. So he leans forward and reaches a gangly arm across the space between the sofa and the table, and his hand is on the book and he’s pulling it off the table and a thought crosses his mind that hey, this is a little weird, but it’s better than nothing.

He leans back again, taking the book with him, and eyes it for a bit before running a finger along the pages on the side. He takes a deep breath in and shivers a little; the air around him is almost as crisp as the thin pages of the phonebook.

Because he has the AC on. It was about 70-something degrees outside. Which is arguably pretty cool for L.A weather, but he’d thought that maybe making it colder inside would help him feel more Christmas-y. It didn’t, really, but he’ll give his past self the benefit of the doubt.

He gives his head a small shake, refocusing on the task at hand, and opens the book a few pages in to the A section. There’s a slew of names, but he’s only focusing on the oddly compelling ones. The ones he can come up with personalities and voices for because he took an improv class once. That, and his inhibitions are way out the window at this point. He might as well have fun with it.

The first name to catch his eye is _Anderson, Marjorie._

“Hm. Kind of an outdated name, isn’t it?” He clears his throat before speaking in a posh, sophisticated accent.

“‘Oh, please, do come in, darling. But do mind the carpet. I’m sure those… sneakers?… are disgusting. I wouldn’t know. I only wear expensive heels. And please, do refrain from calling me ‘Marge’. It’s repulsive. Marjorie is perfectly fine. Ah, now, would you like anything? Peach tea? A macaroon, perhaps? I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I make fantastic macaroons. I’ve been making them for the past—well, for most of my life. Yes _._ ’”

He suddenly gawks, hand flying to his collarbone, as if the imaginary person in conversation has said something blasphemous.

“‘How old am I? Don’t you know you should never ask a lady for her age? Even then, one wouldn’t say I look a day over 35. And yes, this is my natural color.’” He pantomimes the dainty patting of shoulder-length hair. “‘Oh, my husband? Lance is fine. I just picked up his Viagra refill this morning. Between you and me, dear, it barely helps. A lady of my age gets to be a tad deprived, rather frustratingly. Not that… I’m very old at all. Because I’m not. Haha. Anyway, macaroon?’ Oh, Marjorie,” he resumes in his own voice. “We all know that gorgeous honey blonde is L’oreal Paris Féria #100. But keep smiling through the crisis, love.”

He takes a chunk of the pages in his hand and flips to a random page, landing in the N section.

_Newport, Robert._

“Robert. I wonder if people call him Bob. Or Bobby. Bobby Newport.” There’s a beat, then something dawns on him. “Heyyy, wait, that’s like—like Bobby Newport, from Parks and Rec! Heh, that’s funny. I bet he gets that a lot. Is he a cool guy? Probably not, with a name like Bobby Newport. I wonder what he’d say if I called him right now. It’d probably go straight to his voicemail.” He switches his voice to that of a rather dull, middle-aged white man who sounds like he’s probably balding at a rapid speed.

“‘I’m sorry, I’m not available to speak at this time. But in case you’re calling to inquire; _no_ , I am _nothing_ like Bobby Newport from the NBC show Parks and Recreation. No, the character is not _based_ off of me. So if that’s what you’re curious about, please redirect your general presence elsewhere. Leave a message if you have a _serious_ one to leave. Thank you.’ _Beeeeep._ Aw. What a stick in the mud you are, Sir Robert.”

He flips back to the beginning of the book, into the B section, and scans his eyes down the page until he comes across another fascinating name.

_Bergara, Ryan._

“Ha. Burger-uh,” he says, voice thick with humor. “Ber- _gar_ -uh? Ber- _gay_ -ruh? Burger- _ay_? Who the fuck knows. It’s a fucking funny name, okay?”

The AC automatically turning off is his only response.

“Glad you agree, Mr. AC.” He snorts at himself. “That rhymed.”

He glances back down at the book in his lap and stares at the name, perplexed. He can’t really think of anything for this one. It’s kind of cryptic, in a way. Not that it’s a bad name, it’s just a little hard for him to gauge what kind of person this guy would be. Maybe it’s the last name. Shane doesn’t know. But his conscience seems to have an idea.

_Call the number._

“I’m not gonna call the number.”

_Do it._

“Actually? Eh, why the hell not.”

He grabs his cell from atop the coffee table and begins to dial in the 10-digit number. Once it’s dialed, he stops for a moment to contemplate his actions, but he’s shrugging and pressing the ‘call’ button before he makes any kind of smart decisions.

There are three rings before Shane hears an incredibly rough, groggy voice answer on the other end. “Hello…?”

“Hi.”

“Uh. Hi?”

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Shane slurs with an uncharacteristically giddy giggle. No verbal response comes; only a confused, exhausted grunt, and the sound of sheets shuffling. Shane’s drunken smile instantly falls at the sound; that wasn’t exactly the response he was hoping for. Though, in his present state, he’s not entirely sure _what_ he’s hoping for. A friend, maybe. He’s lonely.

“Golly, pal, you sound beat.”

“I mean, it—it _is_ 4:38 in the morning. Sleeping is ideal during this hour.” The person on the other end of the line—Ryan—groans. “Um, who is this, exactly? Is this a booty call? Who am I kidding, this is _definitely_ a booty call.”

“I found your number in the phonebook.”

“…Oh.”

“I saw your last name. It’s weird.”

“Oh?”

“It’s okay, though, my last name is weird, too. We have that in common, y’know, like—we’re the Weird Last Name Guys. Pretty cool, yeah?”

“Sure. I mean, I never thought that’d be someone’s incentive to call me at nearly 5 in the morning, but it’s… interesting. Quirky.”

Shane’s not really paying too much attention to what the man is saying, as something else springs to his mind. “You still use a home phone.”

“Occasionally. For business.” Ryan pauses. “This doesn’t seem particularly business-related, though.”

“I’m drunk.”

“I figured.”

“And lonely.”

“That’s… unfortunate.”

“Not really. I’m fine.”

“You don’t _sound_ fine.”

Shane rolls his eyes as he allows himself to sink further into his sofa. “What are you, some kinda therapist?”

“Dentist, actually. Well, kind of. I’m an apprentice. Or—assistant? Both? Sort of.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“I guess it kind of is. I’m sure I’ll be able to explain further in the countless other 5 am conversations we’ll definitely have.”

“Uh.” Shane’s inebriated mind falters at that. “I mean. Alright, if that’s what you want.”

“Actually, I was kidding, that—that was a joke.” Ryan lets out a small, self-conscious chuckle. “Albeit not a very good one, I guess.”

“Yeah, sorry, I would usually be able to read sarcasm very well. I am basically the king of sarcasm, mind you—”

Ryan snorts. “If you say so.”

“—but I’m currently a bit incapacitated in my abilities to spot it in conversation. In case you don’t already know, I’m—”

“You’re drunk. Yes, you told me already.”

“Ah.”

“And even if you hadn’t, even an idiot would be able to tell.”

“Mhmm.”

“And in case _you_ don’t already know, this idiot, who is still on the phone with a stranger in the early hours of the morning for some odd reason, is incredibly sleep-deprived and exhausted out of his mind. Which would probably explain why the delivery of that earlier ‘joke’ was so shit.”

“Yeah, could’a been better. Don’t include that in any kind of stand-up, if that’s your thing. That one would’ve fell flat on its face.”

“Thanks for the advice. I’m sure _you_ know _a lot_ about comedy.”

“Sure, I do. I’ll tell you a joke.”

“Ooh, jokes from a random drunk guy. Sounds fun.”

“What is a nerd’s favorite thing to do in their spare time?”

There’s a heavy pause, followed by a mockingly contemplative hum on Ryan’s end. “I dunno, what _is_ a nerd’s favorite thing to do in their spare time?”

“Suck arithme-dick.”

“Oh my god.” Ryan’s voice quivers in his obvious attempts at holding back laughter. “That’s… painful.”

“Painfully funny?”

“I refuse to give you satisfaction, so I’ll go with no.”

“Damn, tough crowd.” Shane taps his chin as he searches his mind. “Okay, here’s another one.”

“Oh boy.”

“Why couldn’t the toilet paper cross the road?”

Ryan sighs. “I dunno, why couldn’t it?”

“Because it got stuck in a crack.”

“ _Goddammit_.”

“See? Pretty good, right?”

“I really have a love-hate relationship with this entire situation.”

“I don’t. I’m having fun.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Are you not?”

“It’s… definitely interesting. Something I’m sure I’ll remember for a long time.”

“Aw, you’ll remember me. How sweet.”

Ryan chortles. “Bittersweet at best. I was mostly referring to the oddity of it.”

“Eh, I’ll take it.”

There’s a small lull in the conversation, and Ryan yawns, then grunts as what sounds like more sheets shuffling is heard in the background. He smacks his lips and lets out a tired groan. “So… can I go now? I’ve kinda got a long day ahead of me tomorrow—er, today. Later today. In about four hours. Four hours that I could be sleeping through.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can go. Thanks for keeping me company for all of—” he removes his cell from his ear to check the call-time on the screen— “4 minutes and 12 seconds.”

“It’s no problem. I mean, as disgruntled as I sound and kind of actually still am, this wasn’t horrible. Odd, but not horrible.”

“I’m flattered. Goodnight, or, _morning_ , Mr. Ryan Ber- _gear_ -uh.”

“It’s… it’s Ber- _gar_ -uh, actually.”

“I knew it! I said that to myself earlier, I swear I did. It was one option of many. But that one makes the most sense. I’m a genius.”

Ryan chuckles softly; Shane imagines that he’s probably shaking his head with a small smile on his face. Whatever his face looks like. Before his mind can conjure up some image of his fellow conversationalist, his voice cuts him off, the drowsy gruffness having returned.

“G’morning to you too, stranger. Stay hydrated.”

The sound of the telephone clicking off on the other end is heard, then silence fills his ears once more. He sighs. That was something. And now he’s exhausted.

With a grunt, he slowly lifts himself from the sofa, wobbling a bit on his feet before maintaining his balance. He rubs at his forehead as he makes his way toward his bedroom, then suddenly stops in his tracks.

 _Stay hydrated_ , Ryan’s voice reminds him somewhere in his head. He shrugs, mentally acknowledging that the guy’s probably right, he should _indeed_ stay hydrated, then does a 180 and pads into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. Honestly, he _hates_ the taste of water after a night of heavy drinking, but he knows that his body will thank him for it later. After a few hearty gulps, he refills the glass and takes it with him into his bedroom, setting it on his nightstand before heavily plopping his long body down onto his bed. He doesn’t bother getting completely under his covers; he only pulls the throw at the foot of the bed up over himself and releases a long sigh.

He hears the AC clicking back to life as he finally drifts off into a dreamless sleep.


	2. chapter two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane doesn’t remember when conversations with Ryan became an everyday thing. Huh. Weird.

Did he forget to close the curtains last night?

Goddammit, he did. The water he’d drunken had definitely helped to decrease the severity of his hangover migraine, but the bright light pouring in through the blinds and searing into his eyelids assisted in picking up the slack. _Thanks for that, Mr. Sun, it’s greatly appreciated._

Strenuously, he rolls over onto his back and rubs at his eyes, partly to rub the sleep away, and mostly just to block out the harsh sunlight. When he opens his eyes again, they’re met with the sight of a full glass of water sitting on his nightstand, and the dryness of his mouth and throat becomes extremely apparent. Slowly but surely, he sits up and reaches for the glass, downing the entirety of its contents in a few hearty gulps. That really, _really_ hits the spot.

There’s a part of his mind that suddenly steps up to remind him that usually, he doesn’t have a glass of water at his bedside after a night of drinking, mostly due to the general lack of giving a shit. His brows furrow, and he wonders if, for the first time ever, he’d cared enough to remind himself to keep his body hydrated.

That part of his mind steps up yet again to inform him that no, actually, _he_ hadn’t, but someone else had.

_Huh?_

_…Oh, yeah. That._

He thinks back on the encounter and laughs a little at himself. Yeah, that was odd. _He’s_ odd, and he’s okay with that.

After setting the glass back down, he grabs his phone and checks the time. _8:54 a.m._ He has to be at work at 9:30, and he’d only managed to get a little over 4 hours of sleep. Eh, he’ll be fine. He swings his stilt-like legs over the edge of his bed, stands up with a stretch (and a very loud yell-yawn), and makes his way into his bathroom to get ready.

He’s clicking his watch onto his wrist when he checks the time again and reads _9:16 a.m._ ; he’s just about to order an Uber when another thought pushes its way to the forefront of his mind.

Should he call again? Would that be weird? Was it only an acceptable thing to do when it was 4 am and he was drunk and willing to make relatively regrettable decisions?

He ponders for a moment before finding the answers he was looking for. No, he should _not_ call again. Yes, it _would_ be weird. And, honestly, it was only _somewhat_ acceptable the first time. From this point on it would just be a little… sad.

And it’s not like that Ryan guy is the only person in the phonebook. If it really came down to him getting absolutely wasted in the early morning again, he could just… find someone else. Mayhaps he could give Marjorie or Bobby a call and see if he’d gotten their personalities right (or was completely off). Or he could just call literally any of the other thousands and thousands of people in the white pages! That’s an option! _Or_ he could stop being such an asocial loner and hang out with people he actually knows! An even better option! Man, he’s on a roll today.

So, with him and his conscience now on the same page, he completely makes up his mind and tells himself that no, he won’t be calling Ryan Bergara today or ever again, actually. Because that’s a dangerous game to play. Even if it doesn’t seem like it on the surface, it is… somehow. It’s trouble. Continuously calling a stranger after a lonely drunken night and expecting some sort of companionship out of it because the guy seemed like a genuinely decent person to acquaint? Yeah. Dangerous game. Dangerous.

So, for the next two days, he doesn’t, and he barely thinks about the encounter at all.

But then it’s the third day after the call and he’d just gotten home from work (another weird video shoot working at BuzzFeed, of course), and he’s sitting at his desk trying to plan out the rest of his work week.

And, for some reason, he just can’t stop eyeing his phone.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he’s obsessed with his phone. Though, in this current technology-crazed era, everyone’s stuck with their eyes downcast and glued to their portable entertainment devices, but Shane knows that there are equally as great, if not even better, things to do than to be on your cell 24/7. Like work. Work is good. Work is _important._ Work brings money. Sweet, sweet money. He should probably be paying attention to that, rather than being oddly tempted to call Ryan.

He blinks, almost alarmed by his sort-of-revelation, and asks himself why on Earth he _still_ wants to call Ryan ( _it was a one-time thing, Shane, remember?_ ). Then he figures that it’s not because he wants to actually talk to Ryan, like, personally or anything—it’s just because, as nice as work is, work can be boring, especially if you’re taking it from the office and into your home. One’s mind kind of starts to wander when they’re a little bored. And instead of drifting off into Cloud Cuckoo Land, his mind had found its merry little way down the path of _Call Ryan_ , and it’s being just the tiniest bit unrelenting about going down said path.

But he knows he doesn’t _need_ to, and he knows that he _shouldn’t_ , so he turns back to the work in front of him and attempts to continue what he was doing. What he knows he needs to do. Because work is important.

Not even two minutes later, he’s reaching for his phone and going into his call log in search of a call he’d made at 4:38 on a Tuesday morning. As soon as he finds it he stills, thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button the same way it had three days before; and, just like that Tuesday morning, he shrugs and thinks “why not” in that same stupid, careless way that he does.

This time, there’s only one ring before the stranger in question answers, sounding amused and a lot more awake than he had the last time.

“Something told me you’d call again.”

“Man, am I really that predictable?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Well, shucky-darns.”

“‘ _Shucky-darns’_? Who the fuck says that?”

“I’m from the Midwest. We say a lotta weird shit that no one really understands.”

“That… explains a lot.”

“About what?”

“About you. And how weird you are. Even just as a stranger that I’ve only communicated with over the phone _twice_ now.”

“What can I say? It’s my Midwestern charm.”

Ryan snorts in mock laughter. “That’s a _thing_?”

“Shut up,” Shane says with an incredulous scoff. “Yes, it’s a thing. It is very much a thing.”

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have recognized it even if it’d hit me full force in the face. Which, it wouldn’t, because it doesn’t exist.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

“What are you, five?”

“Hey, _you_ started it. And not only did you start it, but you _contributed_.”

“I—whatever.”

“Mhmm.”

Shane can practically hear Ryan rolling his eyes. “Right, well, as much as I’d love to stick around and chat—”

“Oh? Have I really enticed you that much? You flatter me so.”

“If you’d shut your fat mouth for two seconds and let me finish, that’d be great.”

“Golly. Fickle much?”

“Oh my god.” Ryan takes a deep inhale, then stops. “Are you done?”

“…Yes. Continue.”

“What I was _trying_ to say was… I can’t stay on the phone for too long. Actually, I should probably be going now. I need to be heading to work soon, which is kind of important.”

“Oh, yeah. Your dentist assistant-slash-apprenticeship-thingy? Whatever the fuck that means. I didn’t get it when I was drunk, and I still don’t get it sober.”

“Maybe that’s just ‘cause you’re stupid.”

“ _Or_ it’s because you made it up that night—no, morning—just so you could have an excuse to end our conversation early.”

“Okay, _one_ , it was nearly 5 in the fucking morning; I wouldn’t exactly think to have a pleasant 2-hour conversation with a drunken stranger at that point in the day. And _two_ , no, I didn’t make it up, you asshole. My dad’s a dentist and he’s really passionate about me following in his footsteps. Even though I have a degree in digital media and filmmaking. I… recently lost my job doing what I love, so right now I’m working for my dad as his assistant, helping out with files and phone calls and stuff. The apprentice thing only really comes in because he’s kind of teaching me small medical things and willing me to go back to school to get a medical degree, like my little brother. Which I don’t wanna do. There. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Boy, you’re long-winded. But, yes, it satisfies my curiosity, thank you for the explanation.”

“You are… unbelievably annoying.”

“I know.”

Ryan huffs out an only somewhat-amused laugh. “Okay, look, I really should be going. I’ll just give you my actual cell number, in case you get lonely again while drunk at 4 am and need someone to spout bullshit to.”

“I’m not _that_ lonely.”

“Take it or leave it, pal.”

“Fine. Reluctantly, I shall take it.”

“This is either a very good idea, or a very bad one,” Ryan mumbles under his breath, mostly to himself. “Okay, I’ll text it to you in a second. Right now I gotta go.”

“Alright, alright. Have a good day.”

There’s a sort of loaded pause, as if Shane’s sincerity genuinely surprises Ryan. His voice when he replies gives him away. “Thanks, you too, man.”

“It’s Shane, by the way.”

“Oh. Well, you too, Shane.”

He removes the phone from his ear and presses ‘end call’. Within a few seconds, a text from an unknown number pops up; he already knows who it is before he opens it.

_Here you go, you buffoon. If you must call me (and I have a feeling you will), just try to make it not-4 a.m., yeah? -Ryan_

Shane smiles down at his phone and huffs out a small laugh.

 _We’ll see_ , he thinks to himself. _We’ll see how this goes_.

 

* * *

 

Well, it went, and Shane doesn’t remember when conversations with Ryan became an everyday thing. Huh. Weird.

You see, it at least started out gradually, maybe interspersed between a few days. Conversations about nothing in particular. Cheeky bants, the like. At some point—maybe the third or fourth time they’d talked on the phone—Ryan had understandably questioned it.

“Not to burst your bubble or anything, but why do you keep calling me?”

“Why do you keep answering?”

“…Hm. Touché.”

“While I _love_ a good ‘touché’, you didn’t answer the question. _I_ think it’s because you actually like talking to me. Even if you won’t admit it.”

“Keep on telling yourself that.”

“I will, thanks.”

“You’re not welcome.”

“Damn.”

Then, be it on their own volition or just the forces of the universe, their ‘gap days’ became non-existent. Hence, their phone calls became everyday occurrences. Once, sometimes twice a day. And, hey, maybe it was because Ryan pitied him, but at this point, Shane would take what he could get during this rather dull holiday season, especially with Christmas day rapidly approaching.

Needless to say, he wasn’t complaining.

 

~

_Monday, 2:18 p.m._

“Ooh, you’re calling _me_ this time?” Shane coos as soon as he answers his phone. “Spicing things up, are we?”

“Honestly, I just wanted to call and see if my theory was sound. And, not surprisingly, it is.”

“What theory?”

“That you stay home all day doing fuck all.”

“Absolutely _not_ true. I have a job, a very good job, they’re just really lenient, as long as you’re getting work done. I’m on my lunch break now, anyway, so you and your theory can suck it.”

“Yeah, you _telling_ me you have a job doesn’t actually prove that you do.”

“With that logic, you telling me that 20-minute story about working for your dad as an assistant-apprentice isn’t proof that you actually do, either.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then shouldn’t you be working?”

Ryan doesn’t respond.

“I mean, unless you’re off today. Are you off today?”

A sigh. “No.”

“Talking on your phone on the job now, are we, Ryan? You wouldn’t want to disappoint your dear Papa.”

“But I’m bored, and there’s nothing to do right now,” Ryan whines petulantly.

“And I help with that?”

“Yeah, I guess you do, as much as I hate to admit it. Your outlandish ideas of conversation entertain me, in a way.”

“I’ve finally won you over,” Shane chuckles. “Well, I’m sorry you’re having a slow business day, but my lunch break just ended, so I’ve gotta head back in. And you should really get back on the job. At least find _something_ to do.”

“Fine,” Ryan huffs. “Talk to you tomorrow, then?”

Shane smirks. “Oh, alright, only because you want to.”

“Shut up.”

 

~

_Tuesday, 7:36 p.m._

“Pardon me for asking, but what the fuck is going on in the background?” Ryan asks, one eyebrow quirked up. “Are you at a farm or something? It sounds like a goddamned pig, or, like, a _horse,_ just going to town on its dinner.”

“Sorry, I just grabbed a snack. I just got home and I’m starving.”

“Oh, okay, so I was right.”

“You son of a bitch.”

Ryan’s laugh is high-pitched and vivacious; Shane smiles at the sound before Ryan catches his breath and is speaking again. “No but, really, what are you even eating, dude?”

“It’s just popcorn. A.K.A my literal favorite food in the world.”

“…Butter and salt?”

“Butter and salt. Only the best.”

“Huh.” Ryan half-says, half-breathes, sounding surprised. “Alright, so maybe we’ll get on a lot better than I originally thought.”

 

 ~

_Wednesday, 10:08 p.m._

If Shane hears another one of Ryan’s whimpish yelps, he’s going to go fucking insane.

“What the hell are you _watching_? You keep whimpering and yelping like a scared little kid.”

“I’m watching this documentary about a girl named Anneliese Michel. She was demonically possessed starting around the late 1960s and progressing into the mid 70s, and the case is… horrifying. Very intriguing, but horrifying.”

“Eh, it wouldn’t be to me. I think all that stuff is bullshit.”

“Oooof course you do.”

“And of course _you_ believe in them, don’t you?”

“Um, _yes_ , I do, because like—you can’t definitively say that these things aren’t real. Not to mention there’s so much proof that they are.”

“Nah, the ‘proof’ is bullshit, too.”

“Your face is bullshit.”

“You don’t even know what I look like, but nice try, buckaroo.”

“Fine, then not your face, just you in general. You’re bullshit.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe you are, too. Maybe we’re all just bullshit.”

“Oh, fuck off and take an insult.”

“Never.”

 

~

_Thursday, 4:40 p.m._

“Seriously, man, ghosts are real, inarguably so.”

“Well, not to argue with you, but… I am, and they’re not.”

“Wow. You’re so witty.”

“I know. I hate to break it to you, Ryan ol’ pal, but you can’t catch up with this. You’re too slow. Like a glacier. Or an iceberg.”

There’s something in the way Shane pauses that immediately throws Ryan into a pit of alarmed dread. “Shane, no,” he warns. “Don’t you fucking say it—”

“ _Icebergara_.”

“I hate you.”

“You barely even know me.”

“I know you enough to know that I _hate you_.”

“Nah, you don’t mean that one bit. You love me.”

Ryan’s laugh is a humorless, single _ha_. “No, I don’t. I barely even know you.”

“Oh, how the turntables.”

“‘Turntables’? It’s the other way around, you moron.”

“It’s a _meme_ , you dinkleberry. Get with the times.”

“Well, sorry I’m not a fucking _child_.”

“Hey, don’t you _dare_ shit on memes. Memes are comedy gold.”

“Ah, yes, because you _definitely_ have a full bucket of knowledge on ‘comedy gold’, if the jokes from our first conversation were any indication.”

“Those were damn funny, and you know it.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You laughed.”

“Only _slightly_.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

 

~

_Friday, 3:14 a.m._

Shane jumps awake as his phone begins to ring loudly. Damn, he should’ve put it on vibrate. Or silent. That probably would’ve been a good idea.

He rolls over and reaches for his phone on his nightstand, eyes squinting from the intensely bright light of his phone screen; his sleep-blurred eyes read the name _Ryan_ across the screen. He sighs, pretty much knowing what to expect at this point, and grabs his phone before pressing ‘answer’ and lifting it to his ear.

“…Ryan?”

“SHANE.”

“ _What_ , you weirdo? It’s 3 a.m.”

“I just had the weirdest goddamn dream and I _have_ to tell you about it.”

“Oh god.”

“What if none of this is real? What if humanity as a whole is just a bunch of aliens’ lab rats bundled together, and ‘Earth’ is a simulation to test the theoretical possibility of alternate universes and how the inhabitants would colonize, think, and act? _This was my dream_. This could actually be our reality, Shane. Shane, really, what if this is all an _illusion_?”

“Go to sleep, Ryan.”

“Wh—? I _can’t_ , dude, not after that mindfuck.”

“You’re clearly just sleep-deprived. You’re also a fucking nutjob, but you’re mostly sleep-deprived. Or drunk.” There’s a beat. “Are you drunk?”

“I… no.”

“Ryan.”

“Okay, a little. Maybe. Not that much, though.”

“Are you as drunk as I was the first night we talked?”

“No, not nearly.”

Shane runs a hand down his face. “Okay. Well. Listen to some calming music to ease your nerves. Turn on a nature documentary and put the volume on low. Lick a goddamn crystal or two to align your chakras or some shit, I don’t know. Anything so you can get off the phone with me and let me sleep.”

“Ha. How the turntables.”

“Don’t you—don’t you _dare_ use that on me. You don’t even believe in memes, you dick.”

“I do when they work in my favor.”

“…Go to sleep, Ryan.”

 

~

_Saturday, 12:26 p.m._

“Your last name is weird.”

Shane pauses with his hand on a box of Froot Loops, the random statement catching him of guard. “Huh?”

“The very first night you called me, you… you said we both had weird last names. You know my last name, but I don’t know yours. What is it?”

“You’re not gonna stalk me, are you?” Shane asks, smirking as he lowers the Froot Loops and some Frosted Flakes into his shopping cart and continues cruising down the aisle.

“Hey, you’re the one who randomly called _me_ at an ungodly hour because you saw my name in a _phonebook_. If anyone should be concerned about being stalked, it’s me.”

“…Good point. It’s Madej.”

“Madej,” Ryan repeats, slowly. “Shane Madej.”

“Yes. That’s my name.”

“Hm. You’re right, it _is_ weird. I don’t even think I’d heard that one before. But, y’know, it fits.”

“Lemme guess. Because it’s weird, and so am I?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Likewise.”

“Thank you. It’s like you’d said; we’re the Weird Last Name Guys. Weird last names kinda come with the territory. Or rather, you have to have them to get the territory. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. And like, no one can top us. We’re probably at the top of the hierarchy of Weird Last Name…ville. Like, the rulers.”

Ryan snickers at that. “Weird Last Nameville. Sounds like something stupid enough for a couple’a jackasses like us to be rulers of.”

“But we rule it pretty damn well, don’t we?”

Shane can’t see it, but Ryan smiles softly at the question. “Yeah, I think we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the format of this chapter is so janky oof. also i!!! use!!!! italics!!!!! a lot!!! fuck


	3. chapter three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe he can’t help being an overthinker. And maybe he can’t help the fond, warm feeling that spreads in his chest when he hears Ryan’s voice on the other end of the line. 
> 
> Yeah, he's pretty screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be uploaded yesterday but i'm very good at procrastinating

Ah fuck, it’s Monday.

Ah fuck, Christmas is in exactly one week.

Ah _fuck_ , he’s really not looking forward to that.

Shane wouldn’t consider himself a Scrooge by any means. It’s not that he hates Christmas, because he doesn’t, far from it, actually. And it’s not that he hates the world for carrying on being jolly and merry without him. It’s just that, this time around, his typical holiday cheer has all but dwindled, dimmed, and died in a ditch. Not to the point that it’s gone completely, but just enough for it to take its toll. And he just kind of wishes things had turned out more in his favor. That he wouldn’t _have_ to spend this Christmas alone, feeling like there’s something missing, but not quite knowing what. (He actually 100% _does_ know what’s missing; human interaction and affection. But of course, he would never admit that out loud.)

But the thing is, even though he’s got his own dreary snowstorm raging inside of him, he can’t completely rule out the fact that he _has_ been getting human interaction these past couple of weeks. From Ryan.

And it feels… quite nice, he won’t even lie.

However, while he can unabashedly admit this to himself, the thought still surprises him, in a way. The entire situation as a whole surprises him, and he’s still trying to run through his thoughts and figure out whether it’s a good kind of surprise or a bad one.

It sort of blows Shane’s mind just how quickly they’d hit if off, even if it was just a dumb mistake on his part. He supposes that the majority of the mind-blowing-ness comes from the fact that, considering the circumstances and the time of year and the Literal Everything About the Way They Started Talking and the Situation in General™… somehow, it seems to be going pretty well. The budding of their friendship, that is. If he’s even allowed to call it that. Is it too soon? They haven’t even met yet. What should he call him, his Conversation Companion? No, that sounds dumb. Wouldn’t just calling him his friend be the normal thing to do? Like, okay, yeah, they’ve never met face to face, but there’s _something_ there, right? They’re definitely no longer strangers, past the acquaintance phase… so the term ‘friend’ just about does it, right? But what if Ryan doesn’t even _consider_ him a friend? Then what? Then he looks like a dunce, that’s what.

He’s really overintellectualizing this entire thing for some stupid reason, but he always does that. He’s an overthinker; he can’t help it.

Shane groans and runs both hands down his face in exhaustion, because really, it’s too much. The thinking, the feeling, the having to get up and go to work when that’s, quite frankly, the last thing he wants to do. It’s just Too Much, but a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. So, despite every cell in his body advocating the concept of laying in bed forever and never, _ever_ getting up, he sits up in bed, glances around his sunlit room with bleary eyes, and starts to get out of bed to get ready for another day of work.

But not before his eyes quickly catch onto his cell phone, sitting pretty on his nightstand as it always does in the morning, and his brain is already badgering him to call Ryan, simply out of habit by now.

“Leave it alone, Shane,” he mutters to himself and averts his eyes away from his phone. “Rather, leave _him_ alone. Let the guy rest.”

He wills his muscles to work together in order to push him out of bed, but he almost immediately falls back into it in exasperation. Goddammit, he _wants_ to call Ryan. Shouldn’t this be getting old by now? Shouldn’t this be seeming really weird and kind of clingy, in a way?

It probably should, but it’s not. Not for him, anyway. He can’t quite speak for Ryan, but thus far, he hasn’t really seemed to mind, so Shane’ll try his best to not wear a good thing thin.

“Hey, Shane,” Ryan says when he answers, his voice a cocktail of exhaustion and relief.

“Hey. Happy one-week-from-Christmas-day.” He tries to sound cheerful, but with the grog and gruff from having just woken up still stuck in his throat, the statement comes out a little flat. He clears his throat and adds in a small “yeah”, hoping that at least sort of made up for the lack of gusto.

He hears Ryan huff lightly before responding. “Happy one-week-from-Christmas-day to you too, bud.”

 _Oh. He just called me ‘bud’. So he_ does _consider me a friend._ Shane gets so lost in his thoughts that he forgets to respond, and when he realizes that his lack of response has stretched on one second too many, he clears his throat again and lets out a soft “thanks”.

“You okay?” Ryan’s voice is laced with concern and perplexity. “I mean, you sound like you just got up. Shouldn’t you be at work by now? It’s almost nine.”

“Nah, I don’t have to be in until ten today. Y’know, fluctuating schedule and all.”

“Ah, got it. Well, I wish I could stay on longer myself, but I’m actually at work right now, so I’ll have to catch you later.”

“So you’re _finally_ listening to my advice about not talking on the job. I knew I’d mull you over eventually.”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan giggles. “I’ll just call you back on my lunch break, okay?”

“Okay. I mean, if that’s what you’d really wanna do, anyway.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

Shane’s brain slightly fries at that, and he doesn’t really know why. He hopes that nothing was too important in the part of his brain that just burned to a crisp, and he mentally shakes it off before speaking up again. “Because I’m annoying?”

Ryan chuckles. “That you are, sir, but it’s a funny, entertaining kind of annoying. A good kind of annoying, I guess.”

“Oh.” Fuck, there goes another part of his brain. Unfortunately, it was the part of his brain that allows him to form coherent words and sentences. “Well, I, um—thanks. I think? Yeah. You, too. The funny part, I mean, and the uh. The entertaining part. And the annoying part too, actually. But the same kind of annoying. The funny and… entertaining… annoying.”

Ryan laughs softly at his lack of eloquence, and Shane feels like he’s just about losing his mind, and he has absolutely no clue as to why. Is the sound of Ryan’s laugh driving him bonkers? Why the _hell_ would it be? He’s simply having a normal conversation with his decent pal and for some odd reason, he suddenly can’t think super straight right now and his cheeks are warming and _what the fuck is going on_?

“Well, thanks,” he hears Ryan say, bringing him back to reality. “Alright, I _really_ have to go now, Dad’s gonna have my fucking head. I swear I’ll call you back later.”

“Okay, well—uh, don’t work too hard, and have a good day.”

“I’ll try, man,” Ryan huffs. “Bye.”

The familiar ‘boop’ sound fills his ear, and Shane is… lost. So fucking lost because it felt like that conversation lasted for hours but when he glances down at his phone, he sees that it only lasted about two minutes. He feels like he just had some sort of epiphany, but it’s still unknown to him, somehow. Or maybe he _does_ know; he’s just subconsciously trying to repress it. And he’s left gawking at his phone, wondering what he’s feeling and what exactly he should do with it. But there’s a part of him that knows the basic idea, and once it surfaces, he runs with it.

Okay, so maybe he can’t help being an overthinker. And maybe he can’t help the fond, warm feeling that spreads in his chest when he hears Ryan’s voice on the other end of the line. But he _can_ help himself by ignoring it and not letting it escalate beyond thinking he’s just a really good pal.

So he solemnly swears to himself that he will, and it won’t. And if he fails?

Well, then he’s just about screwed.

 

* * *

 

Shane’s phone rings as he’s lounging on his couch watching re-runs of Frasier, and he glances down at it, expecting to see Ryan’s name. He doesn’t; he sees a name that he very much didn’t expect. He grabs the remote and mutes the TV, and when he answers, his voice is wary.

“Alright, what do you have up your sleeve?”

“A simple ‘hello’ to your dear old friend would’ve sufficed.”

“On with it.”

“Well, since you want me to get right to the point; I’m throwing a Christmas party for the folks who aren’t traveling for the holidays! And guess who is absolutely 100% coming?”

“Wh—”

“You are!”

_Goddamn Eugene and his unquenchable, insatiable need to throw and attend parties. Especially holiday parties. Fuck._

“Oh, nononono, I—I never agreed to that.”

“But you’re going to.”

“Consent is key, Eugene.”

“I give my consent for you to come to my party. I do _not_ give consent for you to say no.”

“That—You completely twisted the very definition of ‘consent’ to be in your favor. That’s awful. You’re awful, sir.”

“Okay, _I’m_ awful, and _you’re_ coming to the party.”

“…No bargain?”

“No bargain.”

“Fuck.” Shane defeatedly rubs at his eyes with two fingers and a thumb. “Fine. You win. You _always_ win.”

“Fantastic!” Eugene beams, and Shane can’t help but smile, despite himself. “Oh, and tell your boy Ryan to dress to impress. I cannot _wait_ to meet him.”

“You—” Shane’s train of thought is immediately derailed as he catches on to his friend’s words. “Wait, _what_?”

“You _are_ gonna invite him, aren’t you? As your date?”

“N-No! Why would I do that? That’s ridiculous.”

“Riiiight. I mean, you only talk about him _all the fucking time_. So, yeah, that idea? Absolutely outrageous.”

“I don’t talk about him _that_ often,” Shane huffs sulkily.

“Oh, c’mon, Shane,” Eugene teases. (Of course he does; he’s not one to let up easily.) “It’s so clear that you like him. The way you talk about him—he’s literally the best drunken mistake you’ve ever made. Not a lot of people can even say that about theirs. I know _I_ sure as hell can’t.”

“That’s because you’re reckless and never slow down for anything. Therefore, the drunken decisions you make are typically not the best.”

“Maybe that’s true, but my point is still valid. Just admit it; you like him.”

Shane is glad that Eugene can’t see the bright blush spreading across his face, but he imagines that he can still sense it, the bastard. He coughs and changes the subject. “What day are you throwing the party, anyway? Christmas Eve, I assume?”

“Nope, the 22nd. This Friday.”

Shane sighs. “Why can’t you throw a Christmas party on Christmas Eve like _normal_ people?”

“Um, maybe because I’m not normal?”

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t even know why I asked that.”

“I do. You’re too distracted thinking about that perfect stranger of yours. Your mind’s more muddled than a college kid’s when they wake up The Morning After.”

“I shall reiterate; I don’t talk or even think about him _that_ often.”

“Whatever you say, Madej. Either way, don’t be a fucking loser and just come to the party. Your plus one included. Or I’ll have your head.”

“You suck.”

“I suck _and_ swallow.”

“Guh,” Shane grimaces. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“You’re welcome! Now call Ryan, arrange to meet, something. I’ll see y’all Friday night! Ciao!”

And before he knows it, the call is over, and he’s standing in the middle of his living room, staring at the wall and wishing Eugene wasn’t such a persistent fuck. _God fucking dammit._

He knows Eugene will literally murder him in his sleep if he doesn’t go to the Christmas party, so that he at least will do. But will he _really_ invite Ryan? Like, is that even a smart move? He should probably meet him in person before he asks him to be his plus one at a holiday party.

…But is _that_ a smart move? Oh god, Shane’s mind is so fucked.

His screen is still open in the phone app; he looks down at it and shakes his head resignedly. There’s Ryan's number, one of the most recent ones because they literally talk all the time, and he’s feeling pretty reluctant about this whole thing but dammit, he might as well go big or go home. (He realizes that he’d jabbed at Eugene about making awful decisions, but fuck if he’s not making one dumb decision after the other lately. Just throwing caution to the wind for no reason other than ‘why not’.)

He’s calling Ryan before he can think too much about it. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, Shane. What’s up?”

“H-hey!” Shane stutters. “Um. I’m sorry for calling you again, I don’t mean to keep interrupting your work or anything—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine! I just got home, actually, so you’re good.” Ryan sounds so sincere and Shane’s about this close to melting.

“Ah, okay, right. Good.”

“Also, you’re not unbearable. I mean, you _are_ unbearable, but not because we talk often. If I didn’t like talking to you, I wouldn’t answer, remember?”

 _Goddammit, Ryan, don’t say that. Don’t say that right now. You’re gonna fucking kill me._ “Yeah, you’re… I guess you’re right.”

“Yeah,” Ryan chimes, a smile in his voice. “So, any pressing matters you wanted to talk about today?”

“Uh, well, actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh. Well, alright, I’m all ears.”

“Okay, well.” Shane rubs at the back of his neck nervously. “I was wondering if you’d like to. Well, y’know. Meet up tomorrow? Like… face-to-face?”

There’s a small pause, as if Ryan is taken aback, and Shane wants to kick himself for even asking because he knew this was a stupid idea, he fucking _knew_ it. Ryan’s responding before he gets the chance to, though.

“Oh. Yeah, that—I mean—” He sounds flustered as he scrambles for words. “That sounds really good to me. I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d maybe wanna meet up sometime, too, but I wasn’t sure if you would want to.”

“Gosh, yeah, I want to! I just thought that asking would be… I dunno… weird.”

“So did I,” Ryan says, then chortles. “I guess we’d woven ourselves into a bit of a catch-22 before one of us was brave enough to just ask.”

“Yeah, I guess we did. Though I’m not really surprised that I was the one to do it; bravery doesn’t quite seem to be your niche,” Shane teases with a smirk.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m good.”

They both laugh together, then it dies down and there’s a short silence, as if neither one of them knows what to say next. (Spoiler alert; they don’t, but Ryan takes his shot.)

“So, uh… where did you wanna meet at?”

“Oh, um. I was thinking maybe Blaire’s, if you’ve ever heard of it? It’s a little coffee shop off of Orange Grove and Oakledge.”

“Ooh, yeah, I know what you’re talking about. I’ve wanted to try that place out for a while now, actually, so yeah, I can definitely do that.”

“Okay, good. Does noon sound okay?”

“Noon’s perfect.”

“Alright, cool. Great. It’s a da—” Shane’s about to say something really dumb before he catches himself. “Um, it’s a deal. I’ll see you then?”

“You will indeed. See ya then, sir, and uh—have a good evening.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

They hang up, and Shane is surprised by how decently that went.

He hopes and prays to the universe that he doesn’t do anything stupid tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

As Shane sits at the table, awaiting the arrival of his friend (he’s become less cautious about referring to him as such at this point), he becomes explicitly aware that he _had_ broken his own swear to himself and that he _is_ , indeed, screwed.

He’s very, _very_ nervous—uncharacteristically so. He’s never this nervous about anything, but here he is, bouncing his leg and checking his watch every 5 seconds and anxiously glancing at the door every time he hears the bell at the top of the doorframe ring. His mind feels like it’s been flooded by an oncoming wave of static and jumbled thoughts, which is definitely not helping, but he can’t seem to make it stop.

What if this isn’t going to go well at all? What if Ryan sees him and immediately runs away screaming because he’s gangly and weird-looking and has a big head and he’s just not at all what he’d expected? What if he’s being catfished? No, that’s unlikely. But—what if any of the things that _can_ go wrong, _do_ go wrong?

_If that ends up being the case, I guess I’ll just die. I’ll just keel over and die._

_…Nah, everything’s gonna be okay. Right? Yeah. Stop overthinking, Shane. It’ll be okay. Everything’s gonna—_

The sound of the bell ringing once again interrupts his thoughts, and out of form of habit, Shane turns his head towards it with apprehension.

As soon as his eyes meet the person walking through the doorway, the incessant flow of white noise and unnecessary, messy thoughts abruptly ceases. All thought in general ceases. His mind absolutely flat-lines, as if someone took hold of the remote to his brain and switched it off. His jaw goes slack and his eyes tunnel vision on this one person and ugh, this sounds like a fucking cheesy ass rom-com, but it’s really, truly happening to him right now and oh god he’s staring and wait, they’re staring at each other, actually? Ryan (he knows it’s Ryan because he’d texted him and told him that he would be wearing a light jean jacket and a maroon dad hat) is standing between the door and the table Shane’s sat at, near the trash can, staring at him with an expression that mirrors Shane’s own. He blinks, then takes a small step forward towards the table, something timid in his eyes, and Shane gulps in an attempt to regain moisture in his throat before stammering out a single word.

“Hi.”

The bright, relieved smile that Ryan gives him sends an intense wave of warmth washing over him, making his chest feel full and his head feel foggy. “Hi.”

Yeah, everything’s gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not very good at pacing my chapters can u tell


	4. chapter four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings grow. Thoughts become even more jumbled than they already were. Mistletoe kisses ensue.  
> Man, and he’d thought he was screwed before. Now he’s beyond screwed, but maybe… maybe he’s okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy hello!! sorry it took me nearly a whole damn month to update this holy fuck i’m a disorganized mess. i’ve been really busy and incredibly blocked, but thankfully over the past few days, i regained it! even if only briefly enough to write this chapter. seeing the greatest showman helped, i think, lmao. i wrote the majority of this/finished it all in one sitting today (the day i’m updating)…… i really wanted to get this new chapter out for you guys!! i felt like a damn fool writing this in mid-january, but u know what, that’s on me. i’m really fuckin sorry for leaving y’all hanging for so long, but here’s 9-almost-10k words in one chapter to make up for it. i hope you heathens like it ♡

“Is this seat taken, by any chance?”

Shane only somewhat snaps out of his daze, because he’s still a little overwhelmed ( _a little_ is an understatement, really), but when he fully comes to the realization that this is Ryan, oh my good lord this is _actually Ryan, I need to say something so I don’t come off like a massive loser and fuck this entire thing up_ , he regains himself as quickly and as best he can and smiles with as much charm as he can muster at the moment.

“It is, actually. It’s reserved for my fellow co-founder and co-ruler of Weird Last Nameville. I don’t suppose you know him?”

Ryan, not even so much as missing a bit, smirks and cups his chin contemplatively. “Mayhaps. What’s his last name? Must be a rather weird one, obviously.”

“Oh, it is indeed quite weird, sir. His last name is…” He closes his eyes, brows furrowed, and snaps with one hand in mock recollection. “Oh, what was it… it’s on the tip of my tongue… Burger-air? Bur-gadget?”

Ryan’s shoulders lightly shake as he chortles, eyes shining in amusement, and Shane is glad that he reopened his eyes in time to see the sight. “I think the name you’re thinking of is _Bergara_.”

“Ah, yes, Bergara! Ryan Bergara!” Shane replies boisterously, causing Ryan to giggle again. “Does the name ring any bells?”

“Well, I would sure hope so, seeing as that man is me.”

“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so from the beginning? Please, do sit, my friend!” Shane gestures to the seat across from him, and Ryan smiles as he takes it with a pleased ‘thank you’. Once he’s settled, there’s a brief moment where they’re staring at each other in silence, then Ryan’s lips twitch and he’s grinning, which makes Shane grin, and they both laugh at the absurdity of what had just occurred. Ryan places his hand on his forehead and shakes his head in disbelief.

“That was so stupid.”

“It was, but it’s fitting because _we’re_ stupid.”

“That’s true,” Ryan concedes, then leans forward with his arms folded on the table. “I mean, wow, it’s…” he pauses as he gazes at Shane for a small moment, then smiles shyly. “It’s just really fucking cool to finally meet you in person. You look… you know… nice.”

“Oh. Well, likewise, of course.” Shane says, modestly. (Inwardly, he’s screaming, because Ryan just said he looks nice and that’s not even that big of a deal but Ryan looks _very_ nice so if he thinks he looks nice, then clearly he’s not that bad after all.) “Am I anything like you’d expected?”

“Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure _what_ I’d expected. I guess I didn’t really have any expectations. As long as you weren’t a creep or some kind of serial killer, I was good.”

“Who says I’m _not_ a serial killer?” Shane teases with a wink. Ryan frowns, yet not unkindly, and gives Shane’s leg a small kick underneath the table.

“Don’t say shit like that in public or ever again, dumbass,” Ryan warns, but can’t help the corners of his lips turning up. Shane takes this as an opportunity to continue, because he’s just that relentless.

“Aw, c’mon, you know I’m just pulling your leg…” He smirks again as he leans in and lowers his voice. “Or _am_ I?” He laughs as Ryan throws his head back and groans out a long, exasperated ‘stop’.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop giving you the heeby-jeebies for a few minutes, at least,” he chuckles, then his eyes catch onto a teenage girl walking past their table with an iced coffee in her hand. He’s reminded that he hadn’t gotten them anything yet, and he shuffles in his seat, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “Oh, uh, did you want anything? I can go get us some drinks.”

“Oh, I mean, that’s really nice of you, but you don’t have to pay for me or anything,” Ryan says humbly, and starts to fumble for his own wallet.

“No, really, it’s on me,” Shane replies with a shake of the head and holds his wallet up with a kind, genuine smile. Ryan instantly eases and relaxes into his seat again as Shane unfolds his long legs and steps from behind the table.

As soon as he stands up full-height, he sees Ryan’s eyes slightly widen as he visibly gulps and mutters a soft ‘holy shit’ under his breath. Shane tries but can’t hold back the laughter that comes out of him because oh my god, he just looks so fucking _stunned_.

“Ah, guess my height never was brought up in conversation, was it?” Shane chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. “I suppose I could have given some sort of disclaimer.”

“Yeah, that…” Ryan inhales and gives his head a small shake as he giggles. “Wow. You really are unexpectedly _tall_. It’s not a bad thing or anything, it’s just… _wow_. How tall are you, exactly?”

“6 foot 4.”

“Oh, wow.”

Shane snorts, amused. “Is that all you can say? ‘Wow’?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“It’s almost as if you’re the only one who oughtta be surprised. I didn’t think you’d be so _short_.”

Ryan’s face immediately scrunches up in indignation, and Shane’s snorting in laughter again (talking with him on the phone is one thing, but his words topped with his expressions just makes the whole thing 50x funnier). “Hey, I am _not_ short, you asshole! I’m 5 foot 10, dammit!”

“Maybe so, but from my perspective, you look about 4 foot 8.”

“Man, you’re really more of a dick in real life than on the phone,” Ryan huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head to stare out the window. Shane can tell he’s trying really hard not to smile; he simply watches him with an impish smirk, because he knows he’s gonna break soon. Expectedly, Ryan glances back at him and looks him up and down, taking in his entire height, and apparently he just couldn’t help raising his eyebrows because it still astounds him. When he notices the way Shane’s looking at him, however, he rolls his eyes and averts his gaze again. Shane knows that he should probably stop his unrelenting goading, but some high level of bravery prevents him from holding back his next words.

“Got a thing for tall people, little guy?”

Ryan looks at him and smirks back, something equally sly and teasing in his eyes. “Maybe you should try and find out for yourself, _big guy_.”

Oh, fuck. Shane has never experienced cardiac arrest before, but apparently now was a good time to start, because he swears his heart just stalled and the wind has just been fucking knocked out of him and the bravery that possessed him for 2 seconds is now gone and all he can think is ‘oh god, oh fuck, never mind, abort abort _abort_ ’.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment, before mumbling something along the lines of ‘I’ll go order the drinks’. He’s at least 80% sure that’s what he’d said, but it really came out more like ‘uhhhhhhh drinks yeah _drinks_ those, we… need those’, and Ryan grins as he watches a flustered Shane approach the counter.

“Hi there, I’m Cheyenne!” The girl behind the counter says cheerily. “What can I get for you today, sir?”

“Hi Cheyenne, uh, can I get you guys’ green tea, please?”

“Sure thing, would you like that hot or iced?”

“Hot, please.”

“Okay, I can do that for ya,” Cheyenne says as she inputs the order into the register. “Anything else?”

“Yes, can I also get a, um…” He pauses as he realizes that he literally has no idea what Ryan even wants. He shoots a glance at his friend across the café and sees that he’s already looking at him, chin resting in his palm and an amused smile on his face. He then taps at his cell phone sitting on the table, then points to Shane’s back pocket. Almost as soon as he does this, he feels his phone vibrate, and he reaches for it so he can check it. “Ah, I’m so sorry, just one quick second…”

“No problem at all, take your time,” Cheyenne replies sweetly, and Shane gives her a soft smile before unlocking his phone and seeing that he has a new text from Ryan.

_You didn’t even ask me what I wanted before running off, you dolt._

Shane glances back up and mouths ‘sorry’ at him with an apologetic shrug; Ryan shakes his head and waves him off, as if to say ‘no big deal’. He picks his phone back up, and Shane watches as he types before his phone vibrates again.

_Haha, it’s fine. I’ll just take a hot chocolate with whipped cream, thanks!_

With a single nod, he locks his phone and places it back in his pocket, then addresses Cheyenne again with his order.

“Okay, sorry about that, may I also get a hot chocolate with whipped cream?”

“It’s fine! So you’d like a green tea and a hot chocolate with whipped cream, is that right?”

“It is indeed.”

“For here or to-go?”

“For here.”

“Alrighty, that’ll be $8.17,” she says, and Shane’s really glad they came here instead of Starbucks, because he would’ve been paying that price for only one of the drinks there. Not that he would’ve complained or anything, of course, but getting a better drink for a better price was definitely a bargain in his eyes. He pays, leaving the barista a two-dollar tip, and returns to the table, where Ryan is sitting and watching him with that smile and twinkle in his eye, like he’s trying to hold back laughter. When Shane retakes his seat, he’s still looking at him without saying anything, and Shane cocks his head with a confused smile.

“What?”

“Is this how you treat _all_ of your friends?”

Shane chortles. “Only the ones who annoy me beyond repair.”

“How ironic that is, seeing as you are _the most_ annoying.”

“You enjoy it, though. I’m a funny and entertaining kind of annoying, remember?” Ryan pauses and squints his eyes, then shakes his head with a defeated huff of laughter. “Hey, your words, not mine.”

“Whatever,” Ryan says, with humor, then goes quiet as he examines Shane’s face. Shane takes note of how often he stops to just look at him, but tries not to think too much of it. This is his first time seeing him, after all. And people _look_ at each other when they interact, you know, like—it’s no big deal, Shane, don’t overanalyze it. Thankfully, the sound of Ryan’s voice prevents him from doing just that.

“So.”

“So.”

“This is… kind of weird, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh?” Shane tries to keep the nonchalance in his voice; did he do something wrong? Did he _say_ something wrong? _Oh god, don’t panic, don’t panic_. “How so?”

“I mean, it’s just—we talk all the time over the phone, about literally any and everything. And now we’re finally meeting in person, and I guess it kinda feels like we don’t really have anything to say, if that makes?” Ryan’s eyes remain downcast as he fiddles with his fingers on the table. “Or maybe that’s just me, like… I don’t really know what to say, I’m sorry,” he adds with a small, self-conscious smile.

“No, it’s fine! I get what you mean, trust me. I was kinda bent out of shape about what we’d talk about earlier, but now that we’re here, I’m not really worried. Talking with you is… easy, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Ryan replies, and the smile on his face goes from self-conscious to sweet and relieved. “You’re really easy to talk to, too.”

Shane hopes he’s not blushing as much as he feels like he is, then clears his throat. “Besides,” he says with a simper, “if we feel like we’re running out of stuff to say, I can just whip out more of my amazing jokes.”

“Oh god, no, _please_ spare me.”

“You love them.”

“If your definition of ‘love them’ is ‘absolutely abhor them with literally every fiber of my being’, then yes, I fucking _adore_ them.”

“Great! Knock knock.”

“No.”

“Damn.”

Ryan laughs that laugh that makes Shane’s chest feel warm, and he’s honestly surprised that he, a fool, can make such a beautiful person laugh like that. He’s not even that funny, but Ryan seems to think that he is, and that both astounds Shane and makes him feel like he’s on top of the world.

He doesn’t recall hearing the barista approach, but suddenly his mug of green tea is in front of him, the steam fogging up his glasses a bit. Ryan thanks the young woman with a warm smile and turns back to look at Shane. He must’ve been staring, because now Ryan’s the one cocking his head, bemused.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he says, then unfreezes himself and goes for a sip of his drink. “Sorry, I kind of spaced out there for a second…”

“It’s okay, I know the feeling,” Ryan replies, then goes to take a sip of his own mug of hot chocolate. When he removes the mug from his lips, Shane sees that there’s a dollop of whipped cream on his nose, and he gives his all in suppressing a giggle.

“Hey, Ryan? You, uh, got a little something…”

“Huh?” Ryan asks, seemingly unaware that he has white fluffy stuff in the middle of his face.

“On your nose, it’s…” Shane’s still holding back a goofy grin as he wipes at his own nose with a finger, indicating the presence of the substance. Ryan lifts his hand to his nose and feels the whipped cream there, then blushes, embarrassed.

“Oh, um,” he glances to the napkin holder on their table, only to find it coincidentally, uselessly empty. “Crap.”

“Hold on, I’ll get it,” Shane says and reaches into his hoodie pocket. He’d been toying with a napkin as he’d nervously waited for Ryan’s arrival, and had subconsciously stuffed it there when he finally did. He takes it and reaches across the table to wipe the dollop of cream from Ryan’s nose; they make eye contact for one brief moment, and Shane notices the blush in Ryan’s cheeks deepen as he averts his eyes meekly. Shane purses his lips and leans back into his seat, crumpling the napkin and setting it to the side.

“There you go, all gone,” he speaks up, breaking the supposedly fragile silence.

“Thanks,” Ryan says quietly, only meeting Shane’s eyes to give him a thankful smile.

“No problem.”

They both pick their mugs back up, Ryan twisting his mug around so as to keep the large heap of whipped cream from colliding with his nose again, and simultaneously sip from them. Shane, though a little nervous, takes the small silence as an opportunity to ask him to the Christmas party. Oh _god_ , he doesn’t really _want_ to, because they’re just fine the way they are right now, and he just wants to enjoy this moment. But he knows that if he doesn’t ask now, he’ll talk himself completely out of it, and really, it’s now or never.

“So, hey, uh, speaking of having stuff to say…” Shane segues, “I kinda wanted to ask you something.”

“You seem to have a lot of questions lately,” Ryan teases as he sets his mug back down on the table. “Shoot.”

“Well, a friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party this Friday, and I was wondering if you’d like to… come along?”

Ryan opens his mouth, but doesn’t immediately respond. He places his elbows on the table, then rests his chin on his interlocked fingers with a pleasingly surprised grin. “You’re asking me out _again_? Gosh, Madej, we haven’t even finished the date we’re on now!”

“Well, I mean, you know, my friend is leaving me no choice in attending the party either way, and I just thought that maybe you’d—” He stops his rambling and mentally rewinds. “Wait. You… consider this a date?”

“Well, sure, I mean, it is a _coffee_ date, isn’t it?”

Shane glances around, like he’d just remembered that yeah, this most certainly _is_ a coffee shop, isn’t it? “Huh.” He breathes, then softly nods. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“And to answer your question; I’d love to.”

“Really?” Shane doesn’t know why he says that, and so surprisingly, too, but he does, and Ryan chortles at him.

“Uh, yeah, really. It sounds fun. Plus, I like spending time with you.”

Okay, imagine that Shane’s brain is a pencil. Now imagine that the pencil has just been fucking snapped in half. That’s how it feels for him when Ryan says that, and his brain is trying so hard to piece itself back together, that all he can say is ‘oh’. Ryan laughs again, and man, Shane doesn’t want to say he’s gradually becoming a little enamored with him, but with the way he smiles and giggles and jokes and just _is_ , he’s got a feeling that, just like the metaphorical pencil, he, too, will break sooner than he feels ready.

 

* * *

 

Does this tie go with this shirt?

No, they clash _way_ too much.

What about this one?

No, those colors don’t even _go_ together.

Should he even wear a tie? It’s not like he’s going to a fucking banquet, it’s just a casual Christmas party. _You don’t have to dress up_ too _much, Shane_.

…But what if he doesn’t dress up _enough_? What if he goes and he’s the only person wearing a super casual outfit? What if, when he goes to pick up Ryan, he’s dressed like a fucking Disney prince, whilst Shane looks like a literal pauper? Oh, god, what’s he gonna _wear_?

He doesn’t really like the majority of his clothes, anyway, so he may as well just pick something simple and go before he ends up running unfashionably late. He settles for a white button down, his black jacket, black pants, and some relatively-dressy shoes, then makes sure he looks half-decent and has everything he needs on him before leaving his apartment. He puts Ryan’s address into the GPS on his phone, climbs into the rental car that he’d gotten for this specific occasion, and pulls out of the parking lot to pick up his date.

When he knocks on the apartment door and doesn’t get an answer, he glances down at his phone, fearing that he’d gotten the wrong apartment number. But then the door opens and there stands Ryan, dressed fucking pristinely (he’s really wearing the exact same thing Shane is, only his shirt is a dark grey and he just makes it all work so much better than Shane does), and Shane’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Hey!” Ryan beams at him at he adjusts his jacket’s sleeve.

“Hey,” Shane says quietly, and he realizes that he’s sort of staring, and clearly Ryan does, because he looks down at himself to see if there’s anything wrong.

“Do I look okay?” He lifts his head and winces. “Too casual?”

 _Jesus Christ, you look more than okay._ “No, no, you look great!”

“Oh. Thanks, you too,” Ryan blushes, the gestures to the world beyond Shane. “So, shall we?”

Shane smiles. “We shall.”

 

~

 “I hope I fit in with your friends,” Ryan says, a tad nervously, to Shane as they approach Eugene’s apartment.

“You’ll _more_ than fit in, trust me,” Shane reassures him, and Ryan gives him a meek smile as he rings the doorbell. A few small moments later, no other than the party host himself answers the door, beer in hand and a bright grin on his face.

“Hey, look who finally decided to fuckin’ show up!” Eugene boasts, then turns to all of the other guests inside and raises his bottle in the air. “Hey guys, Shane’s here!”

The sound of cheers comes from within the apartment, and Shane shakes his head endearingly. God, his co-workers are so fucking ridiculous. He feels Ryan tap on his arm, and he leans down so he can whisper in his ear.

“I recognize him from somewhere…”

“Most people do,” Shane replies nonchalantly, just as Eugene turns back around to address them.

“Well, don’t just stand there, get in here already!” He opens the door all the way, allowing the two men to step into the apartment.

“Already drunk, I see?” Shane asks with a smirk. Eugene responds with a mere scoff.

“Barely even.” He takes another sip of his beer before his eyes grace upon Ryan’s shorter frame stood next to Shane. His eyes widen as he removes the bottle from his lips and holds out a hand for a handshake. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I should’ve greeted you at the door! You must be Ryan!”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Ryan smiles as he takes his hand and shakes it. “And uh, yeah, that I am.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you! Shane has told me so much about you,” Eugene says before turning to Shane, just beaming, and Shane knows exactly what he’s doing and he swears he’s gonna kill him.

“Has he really?” Ryan turns to look at Shane, too, a humbly surprised look on his face.

“Oh, yeah, he never shuts up about you, honestly.”

Shane shoots him an icy glare that reads ‘oh my god, I’m literally going to fucking murder you if you don’t shut up’, to which Eugene only smiles wider and winks. Shane squints at him, then clears his throat before making his attempt at changing the subject.

“Anyway, Ryan, this is Eugene. As you can see, he has a flair for the _overexaggerated_ and _dramatic_.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ryan nods politely. “Thanks for having me at your party, also.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. I’m honestly kinda hurt that Shane hasn’t mentioned me before now,” Eugene pouts, feigning dejection.

“I didn’t wanna spoil his soul by saying your name.”

“He loves me,” he says in Ryan’s direction, making Ryan giggle.

“Like I said, flair for the overexaggerated.”

“Aye, Shane!” Someone shouts from behind him, and suddenly an arm is being wrapped around his shoulder. He turns his face to see his friend Keith’s huge smile beaming at him. “Nice of you to drop in!”

“I’m being held against my will, please help.”

“Aren’t we all around Eugene?” Zach pipes up, as he approaches with Ned tagging along beside him.

“That’s motherfuckin’ _right_ ,” Eugene adds and cuts his eyes at all of them but Ryan. Ned snorts before taking notice of the new man in the room.

“Oh, who’s this? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he asks Shane, giving Ryan a friendly smile.

“Oh, fellas, this is a new friend of mine, Ryan. Ryan, this is Keith, Ned, and Zach,” he lists them off as Ryan shakes their hands accordingly. There’s a puzzled look in his eyes as he gives them all once-overs.

“Hold on, aren’t you guys the, um…” He pauses as he tries to reconcile where he recognizes them all from. “The Try Guys? From Buzzfeed? Like, aren’t literally all four of you the Try Guys?”

“That we are,” Eugene responds, and Ryan’s jaw slightly drops.

“Wow, I mean, I’ve watched a few of you guys’ videos casually, and they’re great! I never thought I’d be meeting so many Buzzfeed people all in one place like this!”

“Well, I don’t mean to startle you too much, but the majority of the people here are Buzzfeed employees,” Keith says, and Ryan glances around, seeing a few vaguely familiar faces from the handful of videos he’d watched. He suddenly squints, seemingly suspicious of something.

“Wait.” He pauses in thought, then turns to Shane like he’d just solved the biggest unsolved mystery of the century. “Oh my god, Shane, you never told me you worked for _Buzzfeed_!”

“Oh, I didn’t? Huh.” He’d honestly thought he’d brought it up at least once, but apparently he hadn’t. “Well, now you know!” He says with a shrug.

“That’s… honestly insane.” Ryan laughs breathily. “I’ve always wanted to do that. Well, I did, briefly, but it didn’t really work out. But I kinda wanna try to get back into it.”

“You could, if you really wanna!” Zach says encouragingly. “What kinda stuff were you doing at your old job?”

“I’m super sorry to cut into the conversation like this, but could you excuse Shane and I for just a moment?” Eugene pipes up, and Shane shoots him a confused glance that Eugene doesn’t return.

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” Ryan says, and Eugene takes hold of Shane’s arm and gently leads him into the hallway for a private conversation. Once they’re alone, Eugene retracts his hand and pushes his hair up and out of his face.

“Holy shit, I hope you don’t think me crass, but… your boy is fucking _hot_.”

“Okay, first of all, he’s not ‘my boy’, and second of all, _I know_. My brain melted as soon as I saw him, and it still hasn’t completely recuperated.”

“Damn.” They both turn to watch as Ryan talks to the other Try Guys about video production. “I don’t think you understand just how lucky you are. I mean, you fell for this guy over the phone, which means he has an amazing personality, and then you meet him in person and he looks like a fucking Greek god? The universe must _really_ be on your side at this point.”

“Yeah, maybe so. And to think I thought the exact opposite a couple of weeks ago,” Shane responds, without removing his gaze from Ryan’s grinning face. Eugene glances up at him; there’s something in his eyes, something he recognizes all too well but doesn’t really like to talk about, and he takes a deep breath in before speaking up again.

“You know, y’all would be a really hot couple.”

Shane closes his eyes and sighs at that. “Eugene—”

“I’m just being honest, Shane. I _know_ you like him, and you have so many opportunities tonight!”

“Yeah, I guess,” Shane huffs, sneaking a glance in Ryan’s direction before quickly looking away. Eugene gives him a sympathetic look.

“Hey,” he says, giving Shane a small nudge. “Don’t think too much about it, alright? Just let it happen.”

Shane lets out a tiny, lighthearted scoff. “With all due respect, my friend, you’re not exactly one to talk. You still haven’t talked to Zach.”

Eugene frowns and averts his eyes. “That… that’s _different_.”

Shane cocks his head in mock thought. “Is it?”

“Okay, maybe it’s not, but the point I’m trying to make is; don’t let the fact that you’re overthinking all of this ruin your night with him. You never know how he really feels, and anything could happen. So just take it as it comes.”

Shane pauses and considers his words for a moment. “That’s… surprisingly eloquent, coming from you.”

“Hey, this is advice from one overthinker who thinks they may be falling in love to another,” Eugene says, a twinge of wistfulness in his voice as he also shoots a quick glance at Zach from across the room. He sighs, then turns back to Shane with a reassuring smile. “Anyway, shall we get back to the party?”

Shane returns the smile softly, because he knows that Eugene’s trying just as hard as he is, if not harder, and he really appreciates the man beside him for being such a good friend. “Yes, let’s.”

“If it’s your dream, then go for it,” Ned is saying just as the two return to the conversation. “One door closing on something good may be another door opening to something even better.”

“Hey, thanks guys, I really appreciate it,” Ryan says, looking like a kid having an inspiring conversation with his idols.

“’Taint nothin’ at all, my friend,” Keith replies. “We believe in you.”

Zach lets out a sudden, goofy giggle. “You just said ‘taint’.”

“Leave it to Zach to ruin a nice moment.” Ned rolls his eyes.

“Oh, come on, he said _taint_!”

“You’re such a child.”

“ _You’re_ such a child.”

“You’re both children,” Eugene chimes.

“And I’m ready to take pictures!” Keith unabashedly changes the subject, reaching for the modern polaroid camera hanging around his neck. “C’mon, losers, let’s go capture some fuckin’ _memories_!”

With that, Keith marches off to find something interesting to take Christmas-y photos of, and Zach and Ned stick their tongues out at each other before following in tow. Eugene shakes his head, then smiles at Shane and Ryan.

“You two enjoy yourselves, alright? If you need me, holler,” he says with a dashing wink. They nod and watch as he retreats to another group of people near the hallway. Shane is now left alone with Ryan, at the party that apparently has so many opportunities that could arise, and his insides start to feel a little squeamish. He feels like a teenager around his crush, which is just plain ridiculous, and he knows he needs to overcome that. _Don’t think too much about it_.

“So,” he starts, trying not to sound nervous in any capacity, “having fun so far, little guy?”

“I am,” Ryan grins. “I still can’t believe you never told me you work for such a huge video production company, though. Like, that’s quite an accomplishment.”

“Eh, I don’t really like to toot my own horn. Besides, for a lot of people, that’s not really a huge deal, you know? It’s more of a, ‘let me know when you produce a hit Hollywood movie and your name’s written in the stars, then we’ll talk’ sort of thing.”

“Hm. Makes sense for L.A., doesn’t it?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, _I_ think it’s an accomplishment,” Ryan adds, and shoots him… probably the sweetest fucking smile he’s ever seen in his entire life. His brains stalls.

“Thanks, I—I appreciate that.” He stutters, then glances around, trying to find a decent change of topic. “Uh, here, let me introduce you to some more of my co-workers.” He leads Ryan to another group, and Ryan follows, happy to learn the names to the faces around him.

They integrate themselves into group after group—Shane introducing Ryan, Ryan beaming about how great their work is—and so it goes for about an hour and a half. At some point, Shane becomes a little thirsty and glances in the direction of the kitchen, before leaning down to speak into Ryan’s ear.

“Hey, I’m gonna go grab some water, do you want anything?”

“Oh, um, I’ll take a beer, thanks Shane,” Ryan says, and Shane nods before walking across the living room and into the kitchen to retrieve their drinks. He decides that he’ll go ahead and bring Ryan his beer, then let him know that he’ll just be in the kitchen for a quick second to take a breather.

Once he’s grabbed the beer bottle from the fridge, he turns back around, and… for some reason, the sight before him makes him feel like he’s just been crushed by an impending weight, and once it falls on him, he can’t quite seem to get it off.

There Ryan is, surrounded by a ton of Shane’s friends and co-workers, beaming like the literal embodiment of sunshine he is. He looks so happy, and he seems to be having genuinely helpful and wholesome conversations about the filmmaking industry, but there’s just something that suddenly strikes Shane’s chest like a poisonous dart and makes a bad feeling engulf his mind.

It’s not the fact that Ryan’s getting along super well with his co-workers, because that’s good. More than good, actually, like, that’s _amazing_.

It’s not the fact that he’s getting on fine without him or anything like that, because Shane’s not the kind of person to be bitter or jealous about anything so small and petty. Ryan is an incredibly attractive and interesting person, and it really comes as no shock to him that so many people like him and want to interact with him.

So, what _is_ it, then?

 _It’s the fact that, now that he knows that you work for Buzzfeed, that’s all he cares about_ , his conscience offers, and it pains him to hear it in his own mind, to even _think_ it, but maybe… maybe it’s true.

It had been mentioned plenty of times in their conversations. Hell, it had been mentioned in the very second conversation they’d ever had; Ryan has a degree in digital media and filmmaking, and it’s his dream, _god_ it’s his fucking dream, and when he’d lost his short-lived job, he was crushed. He’d basically given up on his dream in order to do something “practical”, and he’d hated it, and still does. He didn’t know how to gain connections in order to regain his spot in the industry, a spot he’d barely even had, but man, did he want it back.

Getting to know a good portion of the L.A. Buzzfeed staff—gaining _connections_ with producers and directors and editors alike—was a pretty damn good way to get it back.

And Shane quickly realizes that the possibility of Ryan not liking him back or _at all_ , really, is larger than he’d originally thought.

…Is he being irrational? Is he being ridiculous and overanalyzing the smallest of things? Yeah, he probably is. And he doesn’t _really_ believe that Ryan is the type to use anyone for anything. That’s just not the Ryan that he’d talked for hours on end with and gotten to know and slowly began to fall for.

But at the same time, he just _doesn’t know_. And the bad feeling spreads even more from his mind to his entire body, and it festers and it _hurts_ and he wants to get as far away from it as possible.

His body starts to run on auto-pilot, leading him out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. He places the bottle on the bathroom counter and locks the door before pacing the bathroom floor, mind an intense, relentless whirlwind. He paces and paces until he abruptly stops, glancing at himself in the mirror and genuinely hating the fact that this is even happening.

He’d done the exact _opposite_ of what Eugene had suggested. He’d let his tendency to overthink and overanalyze and over- _feel_ ruin his night, and he’s really starting to hate his brain right about now. But he can’t change something that’s always been, and that sucks, it really does, but what more can he do? He’s just stuck between a rock and a hard place right now, a situation that he shouldn’t be in but had managed to conjure up on his own accord, and he’s not sure he can push it from his mind.

And he _hates_ that he’s doing this to Ryan—assuming something that probably isn’t even true—and it’s not even his right to be hurt by something that hasn’t even happened. It’s not his _right_ to act like it’s the end of the world, while Ryan goes on thinking everything’s perfectly fine just outside the door. He feels so stupid because everything felt so fine literal minutes ago, and the worst part is that, at this point, he just doesn’t know what to think.

As Shane is fighting with his own thoughts in the bathroom, Ryan’s conversation with a very kind girl named Ella ends, and he glances around, expecting Shane to be within close proximity. When he realizes that he isn’t, he frowns, curious of his whereabouts. He’d gotten so caught up in conversation that he’d completely forgotten about the beer, but he’d at least figured that Shane had returned to his side at some point. As he’s glancing around, not finding Shane’s head poking out amongst the others in the room, Eugene walks past him, a glass of Franzia in hand. 

“Hey, wait, Eugene!” Ryan calls, and Eugene turns as Ryan approaches him. “Have you seen Shane lately?”

Eugene’s brows furrow. “I haven’t, but I know he didn’t leave.”

“I think he went to the bathroom,” Ryann (the one with two N’s, Ryan recalls) adds from his spot on the couch.

“Oh,” Ryan says, and seems to kind of deflate, trying not to show his concern because he doesn’t want to seem weird and clingy or anything, but Eugene knows that he’s a little worried and steps up to ease his mind.

“I’ll go check on him,” he says, offering him a smile, and Ryan gives him a tiny smile back with a nod before Eugene takes off towards the bathroom. He sees that the light is on and hears the water running, so he knocks a couple of times with his knuckle.

“One second,” he hears Shane call from behind the door. Shane finishes throwing water in his face, hoping that that helped (it kind of did), and dries off before turning the light off and opening the door, beer bottle in hand. It’s still full. He sees Eugene standing on the other side of the door, looking very concerned.

“Hey, you good?”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m good,” Shane says, trying to convince himself as well, and not doing a very good job of it. Eugene raises a brow.

“Don’t go keeping secrets from me, Madej, you know I have the intuition of a fucking owl.” Shane chuckles halfheartedly, and Eugene smiles lightly before continuing. “Is it Ryan?”

Shane releases a hard, heavy exhale. “Maybe. Maybe it’s _something_ about Ryan.  But I really don’t wanna ruin this party, so I’ll just call you and talk to you about it tomorrow, okay?”

“You swear?”

“I _swear_.”

“Pinky swear?” Eugene holds up his pinky, giving Shane a stubborn look, because of course he does. He’s Eugene. Shane sighs again.

“Okay, yes, pinky swear,” Shane says with a fond roll of his eyes and holds up his own pinky, interlocking it with Eugene’s in a firm pinky swear.

“Good,” Eugene nods as they drop pinkies. “ _Don’t_ break it.”

“I won’t.”

“Hm. Well, in that case, I’d highly suggest you get back in there. Ryan’s the one who wanted me to come and check on you. I mean, I obviously would’ve done it regardless, but he really seemed concerned.”

“He… did?” Shane says, sounding oddly reluctant. Eugene gives him an odd look.

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”

 _Why wouldn’t he_. Shane feels a little inwardly conflicted, but doesn’t let it show too much on the outside. (Doesn’t mean that Eugene can’t figure it out on his own, though.) He thinks for a moment, nibbling his bottom lip, then looks up from where he was staring contemplatively at the floor and gives Eugene’s shoulder a couple of pats.

“Thanks for looking out, Eugene, you’re a real good pal,” he says, shooting him a smile before walking around him and into the kitchen. Eugene stays in his spot by the bathroom and watches him, eyes squinting suspiciously, then takes a sip of his Franzia and follows, going into the living room instead.

When Shane enters the kitchen with plans to grab a cup of water (he wants a goddamn beer so fucking bad right now, but he knows he’ll be driving so he staves off), he instantly freezes when he sees that Ryan is already there, back turned to him as he places cookies from the snack table onto a small plate. He knows he can’t avoid him; he really just doesn’t deserve that, and part of him—fuck, the _majority_ of him—doesn’t even want to. He was going to have to return to him eventually, if only to depart from the party together, and he figures that, since the opportunity has arisen, he may as well go ahead and take it. So he sucks in a breath and approaches him, setting the beer bottle down on the table.

“Hey,” he says, giving his all in sounding nonchalant.

“Oh, hey, I was wondering where you went,” Ryan says as he turns to him, apparently trying to do the same. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Shane shrugs. “Sorry, I could’ve let you know before just up and disappearing.”

“No, it’s fine, I mean—it’s not like we’re _together_ or anything, so you don’t have to feel obligated by any means.”

Shane slightly tenses at Ryan’s wording, because he’s absolutely right. _It’s not like we’re_ together _or anything_. So what the hell’s he so bent out of shape about?

Ryan senses the tension in Shane’s expression, and quickly tries to make up for his lack of proper wording.

“I mean—it’s really fine, I was just a little worried, is all. But I’m glad you’re good,” he says, and gives him a playful shoulder-nudge to lighten the mood. It had apparently worked, as a smile spreads across Shane’s face.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He returns the nudge, and Ryan giggles. “Are you good?”

“I’m good.” Ryan glances down at his plate. “You know what else is good? These _fucking_ cookies.” He picks one up and holds it up as an offering. “Want one?”

“Sure,” Shane replies, expecting Ryan to hand it to him, like one would in any normal circumstance. However, Ryan doesn’t; he lifts the cookie up higher and brings it up to Shane’s mouth. Oh, fuck, he’s trying to _feed_ him.

“You know I can feed myself, right?” Shane chuckles, attempting to ignore his increasing heartbeat. He doesn’t need this right now, doesn’t need the emotions that come with it to confuse him even more, but Ryan simply smiles and rolls his eyes.

“Just take it, you fuckin’ dork.” Before he knows it, the cookie is in his mouth, and there’s so many things going on at once. Firstly, the cookie _is_ fucking good. Nothing can beat a classic ol’ homemade chocolate chip. Secondly, Ryan is watching him, looking a tad pleased with himself, and Shane just can’t handle it, he just _can’t_. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, because he does, he’s just… conflicted. Very, very conflicted, and he’s not too sure how to feel about all this. Then he sees that Ryan’s eyes have glided from his face to a spot above his head, and his expression twists into a mix between a shy smile and a grimace.

“Oh gosh.”

“Hm?” Shane glances up, perplexed. He really should’ve expected to see what he sees, but for some dumb reason, he doesn’t, and he blanches. “Oh.”

They stand in silence as they stare at the mistletoe dangling from a small string on the ceiling, when Kelsey, the blonde that Shane had introduced to Ryan earlier, comes into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of beer. When she reaches the fridge, she pauses, glancing up at whatever the two are looking at, then raises her eyebrows with a knowing smirk before opening the fridge door. They both look down just in time to see her expression, then look back at each other, eyes wide.

“Oh, no, we’re not gonna— I mean—” Ryan stammers. “Are we?”

“Well—uh—”

“It’s mistletoe, fellas. Ya just gotta.” Kelsey closes the fridge, beer now in one hand, and hip-bumps Shane closer to Ryan. With a sly wink, she retreats into the living room.

They both watch her go, stunned, then Ryan looks back at Shane and thinks for a moment. A kiss on the cheek wouldn’t hurt, right?

Shane doesn’t really wanna look back down at Ryan, because he’s kind of scared of what he’ll see, but he does anyway, and the expression he sees on his face stuns him even more than Kelsey’s implications had. He looks like he’s actually considering kissing him. But that can’t be, because… he wouldn’t. Right?

Apparently, Kelsey had spread the word that the two were under the mistletoe, and a small chant of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’ builds up behind them. Then Ryan’s leaning in, and oh, fuck, he actually _is_ gonna kiss him, holy shit, and…

He plants a kiss right onto Shane’s cheek.

Because of course he wouldn’t _actually_ kiss him on the lips or anything, y’know? They’re just friends, friends who haven’t even known each other that long, and a kiss on the lips would just be absurd. And not only that, but it would make things weird, and that’s the last thing he wants between him and Ryan. Besides, Ryan doesn’t even _like_ him. _He doesn’t even_ like _you, remember, Shane? He_ doesn’t.

Ryan’s lips leave his cheek almost as soon as they’re there, and he pulls away just enough for them to look into each other’s eyes. He’s smiling in that _yeah bro all fun and games_ way, but it instantly falls when he can tell that Shane isn’t smiling; he’s _dazed_ , he has a million thoughts racing in his mind, and suddenly everything feels very real very fast. There are protests in the background from the other partygoers, wanting it to be a “real mistletoe kiss”, but neither of them pay them much mind. They’re in their own bubble right now and nothing else really seems to matter.

Ryan’s brows furrow, as if he’s confused—like he’s _contemplating_ something—and Shane drops his gaze and starts to pull away from the entire situation. Ryan’s grip on his forearm stops him, though, and he lifts his gaze to meet his eyes again. His brows are no longer furrowed but there’s something in his eyes, something Shane can’t quite read. Perhaps it’s a reflection of what is in his own eyes, which explains why he can’t quite make it out; more often than not, he can barely even make sense of his own thoughts. They’re gazing and they’re _gazing_ without saying a word, as if there’s some sort of unspoken language being passed between them.

Suddenly, cautiously, Ryan lifts a hand to Shane’s cheek, the one he’d kissed, and Shane flinches a little at the touch because 1) he wasn’t expecting it, and 2) Ryan’s fingertips were very cold. Ryan quickly retracts his hand, as if he’d burned him, and something like remorse flashes behind his eyes. Shane, sensing the panic, gives his head a tiny shake and reaches for Ryan’s hand, lifting it back to his cheek. Ryan exhales shakily as his hand fully cups one side of Shane’s face, then he brings his other hand up to do the same to the other side. He’s holding Shane’s face in his hands and oh, man, his pupils are _so_ dilated right now, and Shane has no doubt in his mind that his are just as much.

He hadn’t really known what to do with his hands this entire time—one was holding his drink while the other was hanging awkwardly idle at his side—so he places his beer bottle onto the table and sets both hands on Ryan’s sides. Maybe his mind is literally fucking him over and playing tricks on him, but he _swears_ Ryan gasps, even if just lightly. Shane smiles warmly, reassuringly, and Ryan can’t help but smile back as a deep blush spreads across his face. Then, before either of them knows it, Ryan’s bravery immensely skyrockets, and he’s leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a proper mistletoe kiss. And oh, _buddy_ , proper doesn’t even begin to _kind of_ describe it.

Shane inhales sharply, somewhat taken aback by the onslaught of sensations and emotions coursing through his mind and body, and his grip on Ryan’s sides slightly tightens, bringing them impossibly closer. Something akin to a very soft groan escapes Ryan, and they hold the kiss before he slowly breaks it, sighing once they’re finally separated.

…Fuck. How long did all of that _take_? It was probably over the course of about fifteen seconds, but to Ryan and Shane, it felt like it’d lasted for hours. Shane opens his eyes before Ryan does, and he basks in the sight before him, breathless. Then Ryan opens his eyes, a fire burning behind them, and now he _really_ can’t breathe and the impulse to bring him in for another kiss takes over.

He knows that this is technically their third kiss under the mistletoe, and he’s probably pushing his luck, but fuck, he just wants it again so _bad_. Ryan far from protests; only giggles into the kiss and lets his hands roam from their spots on Shane’s face (one twists around to grab onto the back of his neck, while the other migrates up and around to grasp at his hair). Shane grunts at this, and he mentally acknowledges that this is a lot right now, like… it’s _really_ a lot right now. This is probably way too heated for any kind of mistletoe kiss, which is typically sweet and chaste or humorously awkward, and okay, _yeah_ , they should’ve stopped at the cheek kiss, but apparently it hadn’t been enough. Neither of them are complaining, though.

Then, out of the buttfuck of nowhere, a single white flash graces their forms, startling them both and causing them to simultaneously jump. Their lips separate, but their bodies don’t, and they both turn to the source of the unexpected bright light, bewildered.

Standing a few feet in front of them, in the entrance to the kitchen, is Keith with his camera in his hands, along with the other Try Guys, all in stunned awe. Behind them, in the living room, the other guests have all also stopped to take witness, but once the two acknowledge their audience, they all quickly return to their former states, giggling amongst themselves about what they’d just witnessed. The polaroid picture hangs out of its slot in the camera, basically forgotten until Zach takes it and starts fanning himself with it. Keith whistles long and low, and Ned cups his hands over his nose and mouth, as if he’d just witnessed a sentimental moment. Eugene merely smirks in an ‘I told ya so’ kind of way, the fucker.

“That… honestly might’ve been the best kiss of the night.”

“Not even of the _night_ ; that might’ve been the best kiss of Eugene’s Annual Christmas Party _history_ ,” Keith chimes before fixing his glasses and taking in a deep breath. “That was fucking _intense,_ guys, holy fuck.”

“They literally topped both Keith and Becky _and_ Ned and Ariel, and they aren’t even married. That has _never_ happened before.”

“Talk about a fuckin’ spark, amiright?” Zach contributes, then pauses his fanning to check the polaroid. Before he can resume, Eugene takes it out of his hand, to which Zach pouts.

“You’re not even supposed to shake a polaroid, Zach.”

“I had to fan myself _somehow_.”

Shane and Ryan are both so fucking flabbergasted that they stand there the whole time, gaping and mentally asking themselves what the _fuck_ just happened, but the oncoming embarrassing comments bring them both fully back to reality. They glance between each other and break apart, blushing brightly and purposefully avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Oh, man, you two are _so_ fucking adorable,” Ned says, hands still in their cupped positions on his face. The two blush impossibly brighter, and Shane whines out a petulant ‘guys…’ in hopes that they’ll knock it off.

“Alright, everyone, let’s leave the two kiddos be before they spontaneously combust,” Eugene says and herds the other three guys out of the kitchen, ignoring their protests. Once they’ve all left, he shoots them an approving smile and a discreet thumbs-up, then follows.

They’re left alone in the kitchen again, and neither of them are sure of what to say. They’re fidgeting and glancing at the walls and the floor—anywhere but each other. Then, some part of Ryan seems to repossess some of his earlier bravery, and he breaks the silence.

“So. That was… something.”

“Yeah, it was.” Shane responds, still shaken. “Wow.” When Ryan fails to find any words to say is response, Shane decides that it’s his turn to try and break the silence.

“Do you wanna… maybe… join the others?”

“Yeah, that’d probably be a good idea.”

They walk out and back into the living room, where everything seems to have returned to normal, thank god. Last Christmas by Wham! is playing loud from the stereo, and Shane, despite his nerves, reaches his hand out in an offering to Ryan.

“Care to dance?”

Ryan glances down at Shane’s hand, hesitating only for a small moment before grinning and accepting it.

Neither one of them are _fantastic_ dancers by any means whatsoever, but Shane can dance far better than Ryan can. That doesn’t stop him from going all out as they belt out the words to Jingle Bell Rock, Baby It’s Cold Outside, and of course All I Want for Christmas is You, an unmistakable modern Christmas classic. Time flies by incredibly fast, but neither one of them seem to notice; they’re having so much fun just being together. A good chunk of the other partygoers do become conscious of the time—the party had started at 9, and it was breaching 2 a.m.—and people start to gradually trickle out. Once they finally realize just how late it’s gotten, it’s only them, the Try Guys, and a handful on others left at the party.

“Think we should be heading out now?” Shane asks, sneaking a glance at his watch.

“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good idea,” Ryan nods, and they both go over to the coat hanger to grab their jackets. Eugene notices them getting ready from across the room and approaches them.

“Are you guys out?”

“Yeah, we should probably be heading home right about now,” Shane says as he zips his jacket up.

“Wait, don’t go yet, I need to check you guys’ BACs.”

“Our… ‘BACs’?” Ryan inquires, tilting his head curiously. “Like, our blood alcohol content?”

“Yep. I still have one of those breathalyzers from the Try Guys Test the Legal Alcohol Limit video. It helps in making sure none of my friends leave my parties and try to get themselves fucking killed.” He starts to walk to the closet at the end of the hall, gesturing for the two to follow. “C’mon, both of ya.”

Shane and Ryan exchange a glance, then shrug and follow Eugene to the hall closet. He’s already got the breathalyzer in his hand, and when it turns on, he nods in Shane’s direction.

“How many beers did you have?”

“None.” Eugene shoots him a disbelieving look, and Shane lifts his hands up in surrender.

“What? Seriously! I didn’t have any, I swear.”

“Alright, then, open up.” Shane rolls his eyes but abides, blowing into the protruding tube, and Eugene watches the screen intently. The number .0% pops up, but he doesn’t seem at all satisfied. He hums, then holds three fingers up with his left hand.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Wh—? _Three_ , Eugene, I’m fine,” Shane whines, but Eugene doesn’t budge.

“What was the first Try Guy video?”

“‘Guys Try on Ladies’ Underwear for the First Time’.”

“Who are my two most favorite people in this entire world?”

“Emma and Pesto.”

“Hm.” Eugene squints, then nods, pleased with the results. “Okay, you’re good.”

“I _told_ you.”

“I needed substantial proof.” Eugene turns to Ryan. “And you?”

“He came with me, so even if he isn’t too drunk to drive, I’m taking him home regardless.”

“Alright, good looking out.”

“Guys, either way, I’m not even drunk…” Ryan says, and Eugene gives him the same look he’d given Shane.

“How many beers did you have?”

“Like… two.”

“That is _so_ not true! You had, like, five!” Shane gawks; Ryan gawks right back.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Oh my god, okay, shush, my children.” Eugene rubs at his forehead and places the breathalyzer back into the closet. “Even if you’re not a lightweight, Ryan, Shane’s taking you home. And he’s gonna get you there _safe_.” He glares at Shane from beyond his puffy hair. “Isn’t that right, Shane?”

“Yes, _Mom_.”

“I might as well be.” Eugene closes the door and gives them both pats on the shoulder. “Alright, you two, get outta here. Stay safe. Oh, and don’t forget to wrap up.”

“What?” They both seem to choke out, followed by mumbled stutters and flustered rambles. “We’re not—I’m—uh—”

“Jesus Christ, it was a _joke_. Y’all are clearly in _way_ too deep.”

They blush for the umpteenth time that night, then make their way back into the living room, saying their goodbyes to the remaining people before finally heading out.

When Shane pulls into Ryan’s apartment complex for the second time that day, he puts the car into park, and they sit in silence for a little while.

“I—” they say simultaneously as they turn to each other, then stop and giggle to themselves.

“Go ahead,” Shane says, gesturing for Ryan to speak.

“This was really fun,” Ryan says, glancing down at his wringing hands. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course, you’re really fun to be around,” Shane replies, and Ryan looks back up and meets his eyes with a smile that could shoot a man dead. He rubs at the back of his neck and averts his eyes. “Um. Be safe going up, yeah? And as always, you can call or text me for any reason.”

“Okay.” Ryan bites his bottom lip, then reaches across the center console to plant a kiss onto Shane’s lips—a kiss even more tender than the ones they’d shared at the party—and Shane might as well be a fucking snowman because he’s literally _melting_ right now.

“Goodnight, Shane,” he hears Ryan say as he opens the door to get out of the car.

“Night…” is all he can muster up at the moment as he watches Ryan close the door behind him and retreat to the apartment building. He shoots a glance over his shoulder and holds his hand up to say ‘bye’; Shane returns it, still braindead, and Ryan grins before rounding the corner.

Shane stares at nothing for a while, trying to recollect his thoughts, then leans back into his seat and sighs contently. After another moment of silence, he puts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking lot to return to his own apartment.

He’s not drunk, but he does feel like he probably shouldn’t be driving, because he’s definitely distracted and his mind is very muddled and this just _has_ to be illegal. But he manages to make it back home with himself and the others on the road all in one piece, thankfully.

He trudges into his home, taking off his shoes and jacket at the door, then retreats into his bedroom for the night, plopping down into his bed with thoughts swirling around his head.

Tonight was… weird. Confusing. _Conflicting_. But he’d kissed Ryan _three times_ tonight, and though that contributed in making it confusing and conflicting, those were honestly his favorite parts, and he feels like he’s going insane.

He grabs at one of his pillows and slams it over his face. He doesn’t even scream into it all teenage romance-esque like he’d thought he would; he simply sighs into it, feeling all kinds of levels of giddy and happy and conflicted and honestly-maybe-kind-of-in-love-but-the-last-thing-he’ll-do-is-admit-that-to-himself-right-now.

Man, and he’d thought he was screwed before. Now he’s _beyond_ screwed, but maybe… maybe he’s kinda okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did this escalate quickly? ……maybe. i just wanted them to fucking kiss already b y e

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ♡ stay tuned!  
> [tumblr](https://51wheezes.tumblr.com)


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